Three days without Facebook. Because I haaaate myself.

This morning I checked Facebook. Then I went to work. Then I checked Facebook again. I spent the first hour of the day working and checking Facebook until I read something that made my heart twist. See, I have several Facebook friends who are pregnant and who got pregnant around the same time I did. However, their babies are healthy. I had a miscarriage. I would have found out whether my baby was a boy or girl this month...and that means that THEY are all finding out and excitedly posting their news to Facebook. Meanwhile, I'm torturing myself by obsessively reading their updates and looking at pictures of their cute bellies and the sweet baby socks and clothes and books that they're receiving as gifts. I am not even close to being over my miscarriage. I feel like a mother without a child. I am jealous, angry, empty, and sad every time I see one of those updates. It's hard, REALLY hard to be happy for people who are getting what I thought I'd have. I lost it, seemingly at random, seemingly by chance, seemingly for no reason, and arbitrarily they didn't. But I digress. Because the point is that after I saw this girl's update and felt that familiar sinking, empty, drowning-in-a-well-filled-with-my-own-emotions-blaaaaah feeling, I got PISSED.

I'm mad! WHY am I doing this to myself?! Is this REALLY how I want to feel?? No one is forcing me to look! I sat there, staring at the computer screen for at least five minutes, realizing that I am torturing myself. I have a wound that's trying to heal, and I keep ripping it open and examining it. What is wrong with me? I'm not a jealous person. I'm not a person who doesn't rejoice in the happiness of others. I'm not a wallower. In the past I've always been able to muster up enthusiasm and joy for people who have what I want.

See, without Facebook, I wouldn't even know that these friends are all having girls so far. They could tell me or I could find out on a better timeline, one where I don't have to crumple into a pathetic pile of sadness in secret and they don't have to feel guilty for sharing their good news. I actually am not sure if they all even know, but I don't want them to feel bad when they post a picture of an ultrasound.

I've realized that being a part of every single thing that every other person does is a responsibility. If we're going to have that much knowledge about the lives of one another, if we're going to give ourselves so much freaking ability to be connected at all times, then we have to learn not to abuse it. Torturing ourselves with Facebook is NOT responsible behavior. It's insane. It's kind of sick. I do it all the time. It's not just the miscarriage, either. I can't count how many times I've felt awful after comparing myself to other people, particularly other people I hardly even know. And when was the last time I argued for hours on end over some stupid political opinion in real life? Facebook is the perfect forum for that, unfortunately. I get to watch some awesome things happen in the lives of my friends, but I also get to feel just sick to death because of all the negativity. It's negativity I force upon myself.

Not everyone needs to know what I'm thinking! I don't need to know what everyone else is thinking, either. I don't need to hurt over someone else's baby when I'm not even finished hurting over mine. Seeing other women's pregnancies work out so up close and personally makes me forget the peace that God has given me after hours of prayer and thought. It makes me forget that sometimes I need to focus on my own personal tragedies before I can heal enough to face the world. After my miscarriage, I shut myself into my apartment and took a week of alone time, some of it with my husband, some without. It felt good to just deal on my own. But I wasn't ever really alone with my grief, because I was on Facebook. Because even when I was weighed down with my own suffering, I was still involved, however indirectly, in the affairs of other people. Their lives just went on while mine was utterly halted for a while and watching that makes a cynic out of anyone. I have enough stress in my life without everyone else's on top of it.

This post was originally supposed to be a lighthearted humor piece about how much Facebook sucks. I even had ms paint up to draw some hilarious pictures of myself curled up in a deprived ball on the floor. I probably should have written this after the anger subsided and I may even go back and delete it because I'm not sure I'm ready to share yet, but I've gotta say, it feels good. I cannot believe it took me this long to figure this crap out.

So here's my plan to start getting my Facebook habit under control: I'm not going to be on Facebook until Saturday at the earliest, longer if I can handle it, just to see how it feels. Then I'll have to come up with some sort of battle plan, because this sucks and I'm not letting a stupid website control my emotions anymore. Who knows? Maybe I'll even be able to come to terms with my feelings on my own without interference, however indirect or unintentional, from anyone else.

This is your own fault. YOU ASKED FOR IT.

I've been getting emails and comments and messages from people asking me if I have any other talents.  Other than drawing velociraptors.  Yeah.  Because that's a talent.  Anyway, usually I say, "NOPE.  NOT A ONE." Except a few of you have been very specific.  "Do you sing?" they ask.  Well...the answer is sort of.

I sort of sing.  I have taken a couple classes.  I've been in a few musicals.  I'm just not pursuing singing, so it's kind of something I don't do much, unless I'm alone, in my room with a hairbrush and underpants.  Because that's what pop stars do.

I thought I ought to share this with you since A. you seem interested, B. I really enjoy looking at/listening to/generally talking about myself, and C. it's been asked a surprising number of times.

So!  This is me singing "Just You and Me" by Zee Avi.  It's one of my favorites and I don't do it justice, but that's okay because SO WHAT, that's why.  My webcam sucks so you'll need to PUMP UP THA VOLUME!  It gets easier to hear after a couple lines, I think.  Also, I mess up a lot.  SO SUE ME.  Or sew me.  Whatever you want to do is fine with me.

Also, I have to just link you to YouTube where I have it because Blogger hates me more than anything and is trying to save you from watching this, I guess.  You have been warned.  By me and by blogger.

HERE IS THE LINK TO THE MELODIOUS SOUNDS OF MY VOICE THING.


P to the S: disneyaddict326 is the youtuber who uploaded the instrumental that I sang to because I have no instrument-type skills.  GO HER!

I don't remember if I've told this story already but I had a lot of caffeine so here you go, internet.

I think I may have tweeted about this while it was happening but it's a story that deserves documentation and probably a few pictures but I lost my camera in Colorado while it was happening and so now I don't have a picture of the clown man to prove anything.  I actually think the TSA stole my camera as evidence and then when they figured out that I'm not actually a terrorist, they were too embarrassed to give it back.  TSA, I forgive you, but I really need my camera back because I spent forever hours becoming a photography wizard and by "wizard" I mean "person who is able to turn her camera on and off without causing irreparable damage" so YEAH, TSA.  If you send it back, we'll call it good and I won't sue you.  I probably won't sue you anyway, though.  This post is not going to get any more coherent than this, guys.

My Airport Adventure: A Tale of Loss, Achieving my Dreams, and Strange Men Dressed as Clowns in Terminal A (Part One)
By Megan Prietzel

"I wish I could go to Colorado and see BYU in the NCAA tournament," I said.
"We should just go," replied Tavia.
"Okay."

Shortly thereafter, Tavia called her father.  I called my mother.  After a series of phone calls involving massive amounts of whining and promises to be responsible and PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE's, Tavia and I headed off to Colorado to support and cheer on our beloved BYU men's basketball team.

We left after our classes and headed to the airport.  I was tingling with excitement and also inexplicable terror because airplanes are incredible.  So incredible that I still refuse to believe that they are real.  How can that much metal fly through the air like that?  IT CAN'T, I TELL YOU.  Except it does.  THUS THE TERROR.  Anyway, we arrived at the airport parking lot.  Rain poured outside the car.  Neither one of us wanted to leave the warm, enveloping comfort of the car's butt warmers, but we had a higher calling that day.  We HAD to get to Colorado.  And I vowed to be an adult that day!  It would be my first airplane ride ever without my mommy.  EVER.  Tavia doubted that I had the capability to act like a functioning member of society for an entire airport visit, but I was going to prove her wrong.  OH BOY, WAS I.

We left the car and lugged our two carry-on bags through puddles and into a little shack to await the airport shuttle.  A very athletic looking woman joined us.  At the time I was not ashamed because I visited the gym regularly.  I am now ashamed.  Anyway.  The shuttle arrived and Tavia and I boarded, ready for our adventure.  I sat on that crowded, damp bus with a grin on my face and I suppressed every urge to start singing "WE WE WE SO EXCITED!  WE SO EXCITED!" because I was a freaking adult, everybody, complete with a real suitcase and a living person who was not my mom.  It was to be the dawn of a new age.

We entered the airport.  I could feel the magic of modern transportation at work around me, a magic that I was about to take part in.  Unfortunately, I have this problem. 

I am not the kind of person who copes well with new and unusual situations.  Especially situations where something is expected of me, say like in a long line of rushing people in which I am expected to take off my shoes and fill a tub with all of my things as quickly as possible.  Tavia is one of those capable people.  She orders pizza on the phone because she doesn't mind talking to a person and telling him or her that she wants pepperoni.  Her face doesn't burn bright red and her palms don't sweat and she doesn't start mumbling awkward sentences that sounded better in her head.  That is why I desperately needed her.

We got in the airport security line thing.  Tavia calmly removed her shoes and placed them in a plastic tub, along with her jacket and belt.  She took a second tub and put her phone and laptop inside.  Then she set them both on a conveyor belt with ease, followed by her suitcase.  Meanwhile, my brain was going insane for no particular reason.

I am going to have to take off my shoes.  What if I forget how to do that?  What if I accidentally take off my pants instead?  I WILL LOOK LIKE SUCH AN IDIOT.  Oh my gosh.  The people behind me are probably wondering why I don't have a plastic tub.  Okay, so I um, grab this tub thing and um...put my shoes in it?  Is that right?  PANTS?  TAVIA SHOULD I PUT MY PANTS IN IT?  NO! No, Megan, get it together.  Okay now set the tub on the movey-belty thing.  WTFFF I need a SECOND TUB??  Oh dear heaven above.  Okay uh...for my laptop?  But my laptop is in my backpack...no no it's cool.  I can do this.  Man, this zipper is really difficult to open when my palms are this sweaty.  IS EVERYONE LOOKING AT ME?  Everyone is looking at me. I can't handle this pressure.  IF I DO NOT GET THIS BACKPACK OPEN EVERYONE WILL DIE.  Oh, I am truly blessed, it opened and I didn't drop my laptop.  Okay, well now I just want everyone to stop looking at me.  I can tell they're looking at me, even though they appear to be paying no attention at all. I'm gonna go ahead and toss the rest of my stuff in there as quickly as possible.  And now it's all falling out of the tub.  Um.  I'll just put my backpack on top...Yeah that works.  OH MY now I have to lift my suitcase and put it on the conveyor thing??  IS MY FOREHEAD SWEATING THAT MUCH, OR AM I IMAGINING THIS??  I bet the security guy thinks I'm a terrorist because I'm sweating so much.  I'm not, security guy.  I'm just incapable of performing simple tasks with an audience.  Oh no.  I can't lift this suitcase.  I CAN'T DO IT I CAN'T DO IT I CA-oh hey, I did it.  Kind of crooked...oh now it's stuck inside the scanning machine.  I AM SUCH AN EMBARRASSMENT TO MY RACE.

Needless to say, my inner monologue did not help my awkward fear when, after successfully passing through the metal detector like a champ, the security man stopped me because he found something suspicious in his magical x-ray machine. 

I knew it.  He thinks I'm a terrorist.  Or a drug dealer!  I'm not though!  ...Right?  AM I?  DID I BECOME A DRUG DEALER AND FORGET ABOUT IT?  Just arrest me now, security man, I'll admit to anything.  YES, IT'S MY COCAINE.  AND MY GUN.  ALSO MY PANTS, I THOUGHT I WAS SUPPOSED TO REMOVE THEM.

As it turned out I was not a drug dealer and actually the woman behind me had too much lotion in her carry on but the security man thought it was my bag and so I suffered a small heart attack.  

After my face faded from bright red to its usual pasty white, Tavia and I decided to get something to eat.  I felt as though Burger King was the only food I could want, mainly because we passed it on the way to the airport and I was starving and unable to actually consider my dining options.  So Tavia and I sat at a table and waited for our food after ordering.  Because I was convinced that my hunger was insatiable, I ordered the largest sized combo, which meant a beverage the approximate size and shape of my head.  I filled it with Coke and headed over to sit with Tavia.  I then promptly dropped the bucket of Coke right next to my chair and also kind of on my chair.  Tavia stared at me for a moment before sighing and admitting that she should have known this would happen, and yeah, she sort of should have because she lived with me and THIS WAS A NORMAL OCCURRENCE. 

I walked over to a nice little old lady who was mopping the floor and asked her to please clean up my mess.  Just then my food was ready.  Tavia and I sat and ate our fries and chicken nuggets as a sweet, elderly woman quietly mopped the floor around my feet.  It was easily one of the most terrible moments of my life.  I'll give you a moment to picture this.  Keep in mind that all the surrounding tables were occupied by people who were staring and felt just as awkward as I did.  Also keep in mind that I had tried to mop up the Coke with three forests' worth of napkins which did almost nothing but make a soggy brown mess that dripped all the way to the trash can and covered me in sticky soda.  Ready?  Got the horrible mental image?  Good.  Now hold it there for ten minutes and try to enjoy your chicken nuggets.  YOU CAN'T.

After that disaster, Tavia decided it would be best just to go sit in our terminal and wait for the plane to board.  As we sat in the terminal we saw a strange man.  He had gone through airport security near us and we were mildly amused to see him n our terminal.  He wore bright red overalls.  His hair was a huge tangle of orange-brown curls.  His shoes were distinctly clown-like.  He carried an assortment of entertainments: bowling pins, rubber balls, batons, and the like.  While we watched, he practiced juggling his bowling pins and unfortunately, he was not very good at it.  He also got very angry with himself every time he dropped a bowling pin and I couldn't help but sympathize.  I watched the clown man for half an hour before the effect of my bucket of Coke kicked in and I left to use the bathroom.  As I walked back, I passed clown man.

"Hey there, pretty girl!" he said brightly.
"Oh, um, hi," I stammered back, surprised to be addressed.
"You dropped something back there"
I turned and looked at the ground, mentally kicking myself for losing my pants or something.  I didn't see anything.  Confused, I asked, "Um, what did I drop?"
"You dropped," here he paused and smiled coyly, "your smile."
"Ah, my smile.  Yes.  Ah.  I'll just...pick it up..and...wear...it..." My mumbling degenerated quickly.  Clown man appeared to be about 20.  Clown man appeared to be talking to me.  CLOWN MAN APPEARED TO BE WINKING AT ME.  I desperately wished that I had anything, anything at all to say about my dropped smile.  Instead, I shuffled awkwardly away, intensely aware of the fact that he was still looking at me. 

He started juggling rubber balls.  I started wondering what the appropriate reaction to this situation would be.  Rebecca Black would not get out of my head.

The epic tale will continue in PART TWO, in which the TSA decided that my ponytail was a threat to national security.

Just a quick update to let you know that I have not died a horrible death.

It seems like I'm always assuring people who don't care that I haven't experienced an untimely demise.  I need to come up with a new reassurance.  Like, "HEY I HAVEN'T CONTRACTED MALARIA LATELY, HAVE YOU?" and people would be like, "Dude, just shut up already, we KNOW that you're fine" and I'd laugh nervously and start talking about not being dead again. I don't know.  It's really late.  I shouldn't be blogging.

Since you're all so FREAKING INTERESTED in my schedule and life, I have officially finished my last day of classes (YAY) and will now enter finals week, which means this week will be a ton of studying and then there will come test taking and then moving back to my mom's house because I am so lame it's painful.  OH DID YOU KNOW MY MOM MAKES PRETTY HAIR STUFF NOW?!  She made me a headband that looks like that one Kate girl's headband.  Like, the chick who's marrying that prince guy.  William Shatner?  Yeah, that Kate who's marrying Prince William Shatner.  Anyway, I'll post a picture of that because my mom makes cool stuff and you all need to see it so that you can tell me my head is prettier than Princess Kate Shatner's head.

...I totally had a point with this.

OH YEAH.  So I'm going to be really busy for two-ish weeks, but then I'll be BACK and I'll do PRODUCTIVE THINGS like maybe change my blog layout to reflect the actual month that it is.  Because it is not February.  This is just embarrassing.

Anyway, point is I'm alive, just busy.  And I'll start being not busy so that you can all go back to telling me that you love me and/or telling me that I need to go die a thousand times and stop writing because my writing makes the world explode regularly or some such crap like that.  Yeah, that's what's up, HATERS.

...That was oddly hostile.  I'm sorry.  I need to go to bed now.  Been working on one too many final projects, if ya know what I mean.  And you probably do because that wasn't a euphemism at all.

Oh my goodness.  This is getting out of hand.  Goodnight.

Still not dead. Surprisingly.

Hey just wanted to let you guys know that I WILL be posting this week.  I'm not dead.  Or seriously injured, as the rumors suggest.  (I made up the rumors.  I just want to be important.)

Please bear with my for a while because not too long ago no one read my blog except for my mom and, like, two random internet people who happened upon it accidentally.  So up until now, no one cared if I took a month to post.  I'M FIXIN' MY WAYS.  I even have a post in the works.  Love me still, please.


Sorry that this is not a real post.  Please accept my sincerest apologies, and also this picture:

Look!  It's me!  It's me putting food in my mouth!  HOW EMBARRASSING!  ...Okay this is full of fail.  More to come this week, and it might even be good.

Sometimes I'm accidently funny without meaning to be. Also, sometimes I spell accidently as "accidentally" because I suck.

Updated:  Apparently it really is spelled "accidentally" and I've been right all along.  So it's kind of like my failure is a success, if you think about it.

I actually was planning on writing a very long illustrated post today, but a friend of mine brought something else to my attention.  Also, I've been working for hours upon hours on a special project for SparkLife, and when you see it you will be all, "THAT took you hours upon hours?" and I will say, "DUDE do you know how long it took me to draw four bears?  DO YOU EVEN KNOW ME?" and then I will indisputably win the argument and you will bask in my glory or whatever.

Anyway, my friend texted me a very long text but mostly what stuck out to me was something that a lot of people have asked me: "How are you so funny?"  He actually worded it differently, but the concept is the same.  And it's a question that a lot of people have emailed me about, and a lot of times they are looking for tips to help them excel at comedy.  So, how am I funny?

Well there's an easy answer to that.  I have no freaking idea.

To be completely honest, I don't think I'm funny at all.  If real life is any indication, I'm just an instigator of awkward conversations.  In actual every day situations my humor falls flat all the time and that's assuming I even know what to talk about to begin with because more than half of my life is spent like this:

Usually when this happens (EVERY DAY) I just run away as quickly as possible and retreat to my dorm room.  I'm still trying to figure out how to be socially acceptable as a human being, but so far most of my attempts at humor and conversation have been so painfully futile, I just don't say anything.  Or I'll go through this really horrible process in which my brain starts grinding against itself and my vocal chords issue forth a horrible buzzing sound.  Inside my head I'm all, "I need to say something.  I'm going to say something about zombies.  But wait!  Previous experience has taught me that talking about zombies is not successful.  What do I talk about, then?  Um, I could talk about how much I hate cheese.  But most people like cheese.  What if he thinks I'm a freak because I don't like cheese?  WHAT DO I DO!?  Oh no.  It's been like 2 minutes.  I should say something.  He's probably offended.  But if I say something now, he'll think I'm an idiot.  Wait, what did he ask me?  I don't know.  Something about zombie cheese.  Ew, gross.  But...in a cool way.  I would totally like zombie cheese.  Not to eat, but just to look at for a minute."  And then by the time I formulate an acceptable answer, my conversational partner is gone and by then my brain is trying to bash it's way out of my idiotic skull anyway so it doesn't really matter.

But here, on the magical world of the internet, I have found that everything is wonderful and full of love and happiness and puppies and puppy-ness.  And videos of cats in boxes!  And EVERYONE likes zombies!  And suddenly, I'm funny.  But I haven't ever been funny before.  That's why I'm at a total loss as to answering your questions, see?  People ask how to be funny or how to make their blogs funny and I'm just all "Uuuuuummmmm......" and then I start giggling nervously and talking about spaceships because I'm scared that my secret will be revealed and everyone will realize that I'm not funny at all.  So here are my comedy tips: 

1.  Be funny.

2.  Don't be not funny.

3.  When in doubt, draw a really terrible picture of yourself.

4.  When that doesn't work, wallow in self-pity.

5.  Mention glitter as often as possible.  Also, think about dinosaurs a lot.

6.  Be mildly offensive.

7.  Draw more things.

8.  Read blogs that you think are funny and try to draw some inspiration.

9.  Be pretentious and immature.

10.  Eat debilitating amounts of junk food.

...And that's about it.  That's all I've got so far.  I'm learning, brothers and sisters.  Thank you for liking me, because I certainly like you back.  Let's be together forever.

Megan tries to function normally and set up her Christmas present: part one

Today I got a camera for Christmas because sometimes I want to take pictures to show you people what the heck I'm talking about instead of drawing something that we all could have lived without seeing EVERY TIME.  Now I'm going to attempt to set up my camera and make it all operational and stuff.  And because I’m positive that I will either irreparably damage it or some sort of hilarity will ensue, I will be live-blogging the experience!   It will probably be totally boring.


PART ONE: This Is An Ominous Title About A Camera

-I just opened the box.  There are 2,334 parts in here.  Approximately.  Hopefully the instructions say “lose 2,323 of the parts within the first 3 minutes of opening the box.”

-…The camera is wrapped in plastic.  The plastic is much more difficult to open than one would generally expect.  Even for me.

-Okay…so there are two cd’s here…I think one is like a guide?  Yeah?  And there’s a paper guide?  Freak, Nikon.  Way to waste resources.  I’m gonna go with the paper issue because I hate trees and also I will probably ruin the CD.

-Obviously these set up instructions were made with me in mind.  Step one: “Take the camera out of the box.”

-I will now attempt to “attach the camera strap.”  SUCCESS!  I am a camera wizard!!!

-Hmmm.  What does “32MB “ mean?

-I’m supposed to “open the battery chamber” which sounds funny because I distinctly feel like this is the Chamber of Secrets, considering the fact that I cannot locate the battery chamber.  Maybe I have to speak parseltongue.

-Look at that.  The battery chamber is labeled, “battery.”  Weird.

-“Insert the supplied battery”=oh crap.  I lost it.  It is not here, unless it is wire shaped and/or is made out of the User's Manual.  Stupid NIKON!

-Found the battery.  It was in the box.

-Inserting this battery will “damage the camera” if I do it wrong in any way.  Also I must use the edge of the battery to push the orange battery latch in the direction indicated by the arrow and fully insert the battery so that it locks into place…..hahaha my camera is screwed.

-That was easier than expected.  Also, I liked the orange latch.  It was very orange.  CAMERA WIZARD, over here!

-It came with a memory card that is water, temperature, shock and x-ray proof.  At first I was tempted to say, “hey, don’t you think you’re going overboard on the protection factor?” and then I thought about the fact that I own this memory card and suddenly it seems more reasonable.  In fact, they should have also made it impact proof and punch proof, because sometimes I get frustrated and lash out.  Sorry, memory card.

-On the back of the memory card package there is an explanation in Portuguese and I was all, “HEY I SPEAK THAT LANGUAGE, YES, SKILL TIME!” but then I remembered that I didn’t even understand the English version.  Oh.  Right.

-…I have to get scissors to open this stupid thing?  Whatever.  I don’t mind doing all the work.  Also I didn’t even just cut myself with the scissors which is a minor miracle because I have sustained two cuts on the knuckle of my left ring finger so far today in different present-opening incidents.  One involved a swiss army knife.  Poor left ring finger. 

-It says to close the door of the battery chamber, but the door doesn’t close.  It just swings out on its stupid little springs.  STOP LYING TO ME, USER’S MANUAL.

-Oh.  There’s a button for that.  It occurs to me at this point that many may suspect that my inadequacy is feigned.  Au contraire.  I really am this inadequate.  So take that.

-“Use the supplied Charging AC Adapter EH-68P and USB Cable UC-E6 to charge the supplied Rechargeable Li-ion Battery EN-EL 10 while it is in the camera.”  Oh.  Okay, I’ll do that.

-Hahahaha my battery is named “Li-ion.”  I bet it has a stutter.  My poor, challenged battery.

-Now I’m supposed to stick a plug adapter onto the Charging AC Adapter, which is inexplicably capitalized.

-The instructions say that if I am in Argentina, the plug adapter is not supplied.  Why?  I’M A PERSON TOO, NIKON.  Not that I’m in Argentina, but what if I were?  WHAT IF I WERE.

-Hmm.  All these plastic wrapped parts appear to be about the same.  Hmmmmmmm.  Hmmmmmmmmm.  I wonder if there was no snow outside this Christmas because the Universe was giving me a gift.  Maybe it wants to be friends.


-No, don't be stupid, self.

-Now, I can’t be positive because I’m an idiot, but I think I’m missing a piece.  Maybe Santa bought me this camera in Argentina.  I knew this would come up.

-Did I just have a stroke?  Where is that dumb plug adapter?  I CHECKED THE BOX.  DON’T TELL ME TO CHECK THE BOX.  IT’S NOT IN THERE.

-I did NOT lose it.  I know I didn’t lose it because just because ALRIGHT?!?!

-I can only conclude that my camera was purchased in Argentina.  The Argentina instructions say to move on.  Does this mean that I’m a citizen now?  Do I have to learn Spanish?

-So…out of this pile of wires I now need to locate the wire that will connect my half-formed chargy thingy to the camera part of the camera via a little hole in the camera thing.  WIZARD!

-Why is one wire connected to yellow and white things?  Do they plug into the TV?  Are they for the Nintendo 64?  I’m so confused.  NIKON YOU ARE RUINING MY LIFE.

-Why is everything labeled with numbers and random letters, by the way?  Instead of telling me to connect “EH-68P and USB Cable UC-E6” to “Li-ion Battery EN-EL 10” it should just tell me to connect Ralph the Dragon, Jermaine Stevens, and Martin Van Buren.  I would totally remember that and I would also probably grow more attached to my camera and also people would relate to Nikon’s cameras better and sales would boom.  Everyone wins.  Nikon should hire me.

-Ha!  I totes connected this all up.  Probably with the wrong wire.  Whatever.  I have one word: WIZARD!

-Huh.  The manual says that I need to charge the battery for three hours.  Well the way I see it I have three options: 1. Stay up for three hours and then probably three more as I attempt to figure the rest of this crap out, 2. Go to sleep and finish this tomorrow in a part two installment, 3. Wait for the Nikon fairy to come and charge my battery for me.  I choose option 2.  WIZARD!

-I don't really even remember what the context is for "WIZARD!" anymore.

Finals and why they are ruining everything for the world

Hi.  Normally I would try to post.  Really.  But there's this thing about college and it's called Finals Week and it wears a pointy hat and cackles darkly at every college student in the world.  For the time being, Finals Week is my master.  That means that I have nothing for you.  Except apologies and this drawing of The Muffin of Shame.

I still feel like I haven't really made it up to you.  What can I do?  Hire a monkey to love you forever?  Summon a rainbow to follow you wherever your darling feet trod? Tap dance with feeling?  I just don't know.

How about another drawing?

YAY!!!!

Anyway, I should be back to posting ridiculous rants about crap that no one cares about soon enough.  Please love me in my absence.  It makes me feel like a real woman.

...Clearly I need more sleep.


Comment that I completely relate with: "Finals are the devil's quizzes. Just like stairs are the devil's hills." -Nadia Murti

Excerpts from my journal part 1

Before I started blogging regularly, I kept a journal.  But not a real journal, per se, more like a book consisting of every stray, unintelligible, crazy, erratic, nonsensical thought that ever bounced around in my brain.  In school, if I didn't have my journal I would FREAK OUT because WHERE WILL I WRITE ABOUT THE COMPARATIVE QUALITIES OF K$SHA AND LADY GAGAWHEREIASKYOU!?!?!?!?  Once, I forgot it and spent all of my theater class filling up an entire white erase board with the random mind-spewage that could not be contained.  My friend Amber took pictures.  I'll ask for them.  THEN YOU WILL SEE HOW WEIRD I REALLY AM.

But you're about to anyway:

March 31, 2010

-You know how sometimes you have those days when you wake up and you're all, "um, I don't want to go to U.S. government," so you go back to bed and wake up half an hour later and think, "I don't really want to go to biology," so you go back to sleep but then you realize you forgot to call Morgan, so you do and then she laughs at you for being so lame, and you laugh too, and then you go back to bed, and later you wake up and finally shower, but all you really feel like doing is acting out a zombie apocalypse on facebook?  Yeah.  I'm having one of those days.

Friday, April 23, 2010

-I assume that you make socially awkward comments because you're obsessed with me.
-No matter how many times I tell myself I'm not going to spill, I always spill.


May 3, 2010

-Fruit salad:  Banana is the gross, awkward second cousin that you include so that he doesn't feel bad, but you feel bad, cause he smells.  Pineapple is the really loud, fat, obnoxious aunt.  You're trying to enjoy raspberry or make out with your boyfriend strawberry, and Aunt Pineapple comes up to you and starts laughing really loudly and yelling about childbirth and how her bunions hurt.  So yeah.  Fruit salad is like an awkward family reunion.  You could say that.

-K$sha VERSUS Lady Gaga:

Okay, first of all, K$sha spells her name like an idiot.

1. Dinner with Kesha would probably end like this: "Kesha...here, I'll take you home, put down the vodka...Hey put your shirt back on!  Oh...wow you sure can vomit." 
Lady Gaga would probably talk about interesting things like...well I don't know.  Maybe I'll just talk about Lady Gaga herself.

2. Kesha would probably win in a fight, assuming she wasn't drunk.
Lady Gaga could outdance Kesha any day of the week.  And she'd probably drive drunk Kesha home.

3. A drunk Kesha video game would be so awesome.
A Lady Gaga video game would probably just be a lot of hip thrusting.

4. "Your Love is My Drug" is kind of catchy.
Lady Gaga has about 100,025 zillion dollars worth of better songs, in comparison.

5. I wouldn't want to meet Kesha.  I just want to shamefully listen to one or two of her jams where no one will find out.
Meeting Lady Gaga would be scary.  But awesome.

May 4, 2010
-Apparently, it's Ke-dollarsign-ha.  Not K-dollarsign-sha.  So Ke$ha.  Not K$sha....Whatever.  She spells it like an idiot.  I don't feel bad.  YOU DON'T OWN ME, K$SHA!

May 8, 2010
-Would the world be better, worse, or neutral if I never cleaned my room?

May 10, 2010
-This is just like the time I asked--nay, DEMANDED that my mother extend my curfew.  In that this also did not go well.

-And at this point I'm all, whatever.  Just give me the freakin' alkaseltzer.

-I'm not sure how alkaseltzer would help in this situation, but it sounds up to the task.

-I realize that my desk wold be more functional if I cleaned it.  But when crap covers every surface in my room--well, that really speaks to me.

-Tyler just informed me that "crap" is a swear word in England.  It feels like my birthday.

May 16, 2010

-You lack life-blood.

May 25 (ish. ?) 2010

-Yeah, who needs to keep track of the days?  Not me.  That's who.

May 28, 2010

-Sometimes I accidentally make things awkward without noticing.

-Actually, the most awkward thing about me is probably how often I talk about being awkward.

-...Does anyone want to elope?




As you can see, my entries don't follow any sort of linear, cohesive train of thought.  They consist of a lot of one-liners that confuse me when I go back and read them.

One day I will include more entries complete with the illustrations straight from the journal.   Also, assuming no one is so freaked out at my insanity, I will publish MOAR ENTRIEEEZZZ!

Actually, I probably will anyway, whether you're freaked out or not.

Well. This was much less exciting than that time I sat around and did nothing.

Today, Utah was all a-buzz with impending doom.

All the news stations were reporting that there would be a massive blizzard.  It would be The Storm To End All Storms.  It would go down in history as The Storm Of The Century.  It was going to be terrifying and yet, somehow, cathartic for all involved.  It would forever change Utah.  All Utahns would learn the value of friendship and courage in the face of adversity.  There would be epiphanies and realizations and wrongs made right.  But there would be mass deaths.  Mass tragedy.  Mass Costco crowds, stocking up on essential survival supplies, such as pasta, bottled water, and huge tanks of propane.  Also, wolverine guns.  Just in case the wolverines decided to take advantage of Utah's weakness and launched an attack.

I hate snow, with the fiery passion of someone who prefers tomatoes to snow.  Snow is horrible.  Snow tries to kill me on a regular basis.  Snow is The Universe's greatest weapon against me.  I have already nearly killed myself in the snow this year.  I must trudge through the snow to get to class.  Really, there is no way to emphasize how much I hate snow.  "But it is beautiful!" you say.  Yes.  Yes it is.  It is beautiful in exactly the way that a siren temptress's song is beautiful.  But then you get close and it smashes you upon the rocks and dines on your flesh.

And yet...I was kind of excited for this Monster Of All Blizzards.  I imagined a world in which I was the grim survivor of a catastrophe.  The Catastrophe Of A Lifetime.  I couldn't wait to prove to the snow and The Universe, once and for all, that I, Megan Audrey Prietzel, would conquer The Very Deadly Snow Event.  I was psyched.

The suspense built.  I came home from school early, hoping to beat the Crazy Stormy Storm that was sure to begin wreaking havoc on Utah at any freaking moment.  Tension filled the gray, chilly air.  My mother stocked up the entire house with supplies.  I made cookies.  Shaped like stars!!!!  (They are so cute, CAN YOU IMAGINE?!)

I turned on the television and decided to wait for Poseidon If He Were A Storm while watching Star Wars.  I finished A New Hope.  I looked outside.  No snow.  I finished The Empire Strikes Back.  I looked outside.  Godzilla Snow Attack had not yet begun raining terror.

Frustrated, I turned on the news.  "What's the deal, News?" I asked the T.V.

...Okay.  Alright.  It IS the news.  I'll buy it.  Voldemort Blizzard is coming.  I can wait.

....

I IS BAKE COOKIES NOWWWWW!!!!!

Three hours later, I had an image in my head of utter destruction.  I was so sure that outside, the world had come to a halt.  The Dreaded Storm Of Peril had killed the entire state, I was positive.  Eventually, the star cookies were baked and all that remained for me to do was assess the ruinous desolation that was sure to be my neighborhood.  

This was what I pictured:

This was the reality:

 For someone who plots for the eternal death of snow, this was pretty disappointing to me.

WHAT THE HECK, NEWS?  You have deceived me.  It was at this point that I began to realize what was happening.

I turned on the T.V. again.  Scenes of white outs, standstill traffic, survival kits, and men speculating about humanity's odds of utter destruction dominated the news station.  My suspicions were confirmed.

There was no storm.  This was all a clever hoax.  All of the evidence, all of the hype, all of the news reports were a ruse, a strike against me personally.  Obviously.  And I had fallen for it.

Touche, Universe.  Touche indeed.

Things that make me sad in the heart

1. People who hate me.  (Who knew that disliking Megamind would cause so many people so much misery.  I AM SORRY THAT YOU FEEL MISERY AND HATE INSTEAD OF RAINBOWS BECAUSE I DID NOT LIKE MEGAMIND.  PLEASE DO NOT SEND ME SCORPIONS IN THE MAIL.  I'm allergic.  Probably.)

2.  Utah being like, "Hey, Megan.  I'ma be covered in snow now, okay?  Cool."

3.  People who have taken to disliking things solely because I like them.  Don't take your misery out on Despicable Me.  It has cute little girls and unicorns.  It deserves your love.  IT'S ME YOU WANT.

4.  Genocide.

5.  The first 100 pages of The Fellowship of the Ring.  I have read those pages a billion times.  I am attempting another reading.  BUT COME ON.


Frodo, Sam, and Pippin forged through the brambles, 'neath the canopy of emerald leaves.  The leaves, forming an emerald canopy, filtered light so that the ground appeared dappled with greenish lighty light.  The brambles through which the three hobbits were forging were very dense and it took them three hours to forge.  Three hours of dense brambles, underneath an emerald canopy, [insert complicated geography pertaining to the Shire for three consecutive paragraphs.  Still remain in the brambles.] And so it was that Frodo, Sam, and Pippin became hungry and sat down for a rest in a green clearing, finally free of brambles, where they ate lunch and sang a little hobbit song about food. 

Now, because I know that some of you guys take me OH SO SERIOUSLY, I now have to point out that the above paragraph was of my own construction, and was clearly very silly.  J.R.R. Tolkien is brilliant and his descriptions are incredible, if lengthy.  I am merely pointing out that these descriptions are so very very long and...descriptive.  Blah blah blah, apology, blah blah, explanation for my behavior, blah blah blah I wouldn't have to be boring and explain myself if people didn't take me so seriously all the time. Are you happy now?  IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED?

But in all seriousness, though, this really does make me sad, because I thought it was pretty well understood that everything I write for both Megansquared and SparkLife is firmly categorized as, "Mildly Humorous Junk That Should Not Be Cause For Fighting And Hating," and I'm the kind of person who will agonize about those few people who decided that I suck because my clearly ridiculous opinion is different from theirs, and they took me too seriously.  Should I send them a gift basket?  Should I email, begging for forgiveness for my treachery?  Should I revoke my opinion?  Should I BLOW UP MY TRASH CAN?!  (This has less to do with angry commenters and more to do with my own curiosity.)

Let me break it down for you real quick:

Percentage of things that I write which should never be taken seriously: 98%
Percentage of serious things that I write that pertain to unicorns: 1.9999%
Percentage of things that I write that I'm dead serious about: .00001

The lesson to be learned here: If I ever write about unicorns, you can take that to the bank, because seriously, I love those things.  Everything else you may dismiss as silliness unless clearly stated.  If I write, "This is to be taken seriously," then you may take it seriously.

Oh, but now you are confused.  "Megan, how do we know we ought to take the above paragraph seriously, then?  LOGICAL FALLACY!"

Well, let me help you:  The above paragraphs are to be taken seriously.  But, like, in a non-serious way.  You know what I'm saying?

6. The fact that I have to explain when I'm being serious.

7.  I left my computer mouse somewhere. I don't know where.  Now my drawings look like this:

If you can't read that, don't worry about it.  It's just pathetic.  You probably don't want to be able to read it.

8.  The fact that the above drawing still looks pretty much like all of my other drawings.  That's just sad.

All of the above things have culminated to Megan feeling sad about stuff.  Which means Megan may not write until after Thanksgiving.  This may be taken seriously.

Super interesting stuff, here. In, like, a boring kind of way.

I'M BACK!  And I had bacon on Saturday morning.  Oh mother, thou knowest me so well.

I wish I had an awesome story to tell you.  But my weekend went like this:
1. Megan does not go see the high school play that she really wanted to see.  She looks like this, only hotter:  :(
2. Megan eats her weight in truffles.
3. Megan has bacon.
4. Megan spends three hours eating a corndog in a seedy rural gas station while being ogled by a strange man who walked out of the front door backward in order to continue said ogling all the way out to his car.  Megan also saw a drug deal being performed in front of the gas station, and later talked to the drug dealer.  Megan debated whether or not she should have called the cops instead of pointing him to the nearest ATM.
5. Just now, Megan realizes that there is a weekend story.  Oh.
6. Megan saw "Megamind."  Megan had serious issues with "Megamind."  She hated it.  She wrote a review.  If SparkLife doesn't publish it, it will be posted here.  But probably it will be on SparkLife this week at some point.
7. Megan breathes air.
8. Megan's brother buys two packs of Star Wars playing cards.  Megan gets very jealous.  Megan begs for one and is thwarted.  She plots to steal said cards, but her brother knows her ways and prevents this by saying, "No."  Megan gets pissed that all she has are stupid peanut M&M cards.  Megan doesn't even like peanut M&Ms.

I'm tired of writing my name now.  It's hard.  Megan will refer to herself as "Juicy Fruit Chewing Gum" for the remainder of this post.

9.  Juicy Fruit Chewing Gum eats a lot of McDonald's because she loves it.  She realizes that 20,874 people will now comment/email her to inform her that McD's is disgusting and icky and will kill her.  Here is your answer, before you email: Yes.  I know.  I like to bathe in mercury and inhale straight carbon monoxide, though, so I figure McDonald's isn't really a big deal, by comparison.

10.  That's about it.

11.  Oh wait, Juicy Fruit Chewing Gum also spends two days obsessing over Good Dog and Bad Dog because they were shaved recently and it is cold here it Utah.  She spends ludicrous amounts of time wrapping dogs in blankets.  


So maybe I'll write about the seedy gas station.  That sounds mildly interesting.  Right?

Also, New Moon post?  I think maybe so.  We'll see how it goes.


Comment that made me lulz: "I don't know Megan...that ":(" looks pretty FIINE to me! Like, on a scale of sexiness, 1 being Susan Boyle and 10 being not Susan Boyle, it would OH MY GOD DO I SMELL BACON?! Please excuse me while I partake in my bacon sniffing festivities" -Erik

My brain and I are fighting again. I hope the kids don't hear us.

I have a problem.  I don't know if it's me or my brain or if the distinction between the two doesn't really matter, but nonetheless, a problem I have.  Observe:

Me:  Let's do homework.
Brain:  No.
Me:  Well...okay.  Study, then?
Brain:  You're stupid.  I'm going to get all swell-y and crap so that you'll be in pain.
Me:  No not another migraine!  Listen, brain, we REALLY need to start on the Portuguese workbook.
Brain:  No, let's look at pictures of kittens in boxes.
Me:  We did that for three hours yesterday.
Brain:  I know.  But this is the internet.  JUST THINK OF HOW MANY MORE KITTEN PICTURES THERE PROBABLY ARE NOW!  Oh, the boxes!  The kittens!  We must.
Me:  No, brain.  We can't.
Brain:  GAR!  I bestow upon you, pain!
Me:  *Whimper*  Aaaah, no...I can't let you win.
Brain: KITTENS.  NOW.
Me:  *Sob*  ...okay.  Okay.  Kittens, then.

...Sigh.



PS.  Your comments make me laugh and I love them.  FYI, I certainly DON'T think any of you are creepy.  At all.  I'm so happy that you creep on me, in fact, because I'm a creep too. Word to the wise, creeps make the world go round, y'all.

PPS. I have the strange urge to say "y'all" all the time now.  Whaaaa?  I'm from Utah.  We don't say "y'all."  We say "brothers and sisters."  I need a new word which refers to a large group of people collectively, with which I can address said group.

Updated:  Click here to add me on Facebook.  THIS is the account to add, sparkle pies.  

I should definitely be sleeping

What I want to say is that my head is like, "AAAAAH I'm going to kill you with the stabbing pain of one thousand narwhal horns."

Wait.  I mean that I'm supposed to say that narwhals are awesome.  I heart narwhals, you guys.  Just because I haven't mentioned them, doesn't mean that I don't love them.  I'm sorry, narwhals.  You deserve better. 

I'm sorry.  I'm not very funny.  This is a failure.  Go read "Ice Factory" instead.  If you're new to my blog, just read ANYTHING else.  I swear I'm not usually this idiotic.  Scratch that.  I totally am, it's just that usually there are more pictures involved, and less migraine-induced sleep deprivation.

I will probably delete this in the morning.  Enjoy, procrastinating college/high school students who don't go to bed when they should.  Also, enjoy, countries on the other side of the world.

UPDATED:  You know what?  No.  You don't own me, migraine.  I'm going to leave this post up so that all of your facebook friends will delete you for being such a dumb tack jerk mugger.

Also, my "Twilight" post for some reason is attractive to you guys.  Have you not read Dan Bergstein?  Awesome times 34,234.

Please don't compare me to Dan Bergstein now.  I will fall woefully behind on my chart of coolness.  Anyway.  Would you be interested in a continuation of that Twilight thing?  Like New Moon for people who don't like New Moon?  Or should I just pretend that I never wrote the first one to begin with?  I will stare at my computer screen until you answer me.